Easy Like A Sunday Morning
by malfoytheferret
Summary: Something had changed about Hermione Granger. Perhaps it was in the way her hair rolled down her back in sleek, shiny waves, or perhaps that her skirt seemed to have shrunk by at least three inches over the summer. Whatever it was Draco Malfoy wanted it.


**Author's Note: **I do not own the world of Harry Potter in any way, shape or form. This story will be counted as a mature fanfiction due to some of the themes within it, and if said works affect you, please, do not read! This was just a little something playing around in my head, and I thought I'd see what became of it. If you like it, please review! :)

**Prologue**

Something had changed about Hermione Granger. Perhaps it was in the way which her sun-lightened caramel coloured hair rolled down her back in sleek, shiny waves that caught the sunlight like glimmering stars, or perhaps it was the simple fact that her grey school skirt seemed to have shrunk by at least three inches over the summer, only covering from her mid thighs upwards and showing her long, golden legs, the pleats hugging around her perfectly formed _arse._ Whatever it was, Draco Malfoy wanted it.

Staring across the Great Hall at the petite brunette over breakfast was by far becoming Draco's favourite past time by far, and every morning he would swagger into the Great Hall twenty minutes earlier than he had been for every other year, just to watch her float in, curvy hips swaying. Every morning it was the same; he'd just be onto his second pancake by the time the Gryffindor golden girl would push her way through the wooden doors, shimmying down towards her two best friends – _male _friends. On the seventh step of her plain, schoolgirl shoes, Hermione would push her curls back from her head, running a single dainty hand through the smooth locks. But it wasn't the hair that fascinated Draco, it was the way that the movement caused her miraculously larger chest to be pushed out, straining her grey Hogwarts jumper.

Looked like _someone_ hadn't had a chance to get down to Diagon Alley for new robes this summer, with all the sunbathing that must have taken place to give her such a golden glow. Or perhaps Potter's _shine _was just rubbing off on her.

But greater than all the other actions she took, greater than every single sway of her cute little hips, was the way she seated herself down on the wooden benches. Leaning forwards, Hermione, prissy little Hermione Granger, would allow her skirt to rise to such a level that barely a centimetre of the bottom of her pants would become clear to every single male – and female – in the room, just for the tiniest second, before the sliver of underwear was lost to anyone but the bench that she sat on. And nothing gave Draco more satisfaction on a morning than to catch such a glimpse.

Today's pants? A plain cotton that he had only just caught sight of, only the very ends of which had been clear to him past the pleats on her skirt. Guess some things never did change, but how could anyone really expect Granger to wear the sluttiest, sexiest pants, made of lace and nothing else? Not when she used to be bushy haired Granger, bucktoothed Granger, _virgin _Granger. The very girl that Draco hated with all of his heart, perhaps even more than _Potter. _

True, she was still an annoying piece of filth on the shoes of the wizarding world, a piece of filth that should have been wiped clean a long time ago, but she was a _hot _piece of filth at that. Especially when she got a drip of maple syrup on her bottom lip and licked it in the exact way that she did when she decided to sit facing the direction of the Slytherin table, instead of flashing them her pants.

Staring across the room at her as he crammed his gooey pancake into his mouth in an attempt to free it of the sudden dryness it was feeling, Draco refused to blink even once, his eyes attracted to the girl as though they were both magnets. Of course, certain attractions could also be repelled when aligned correctly, and one such person was eager to align them exactly right when ever she was around. And that was _a lot._

"Draky-kins?" The overly sugary voice interrupted Draco's thoughts of exactly what he wanted to do with Granger's mouth, and he turned with a huff to the source of the sound, the one person that he would have happily killed at a moments notice.

Pansy Parkinson. Her lips pouting stupidly in Draco's direction, her long black hair falling past her shoulders in a dead straight cut, dark eyes wide as they stared up at him, there was not a single thing in the world that annoyed him more, not even the teasing that he took every morning from the school's newest hot girl. Unfortunately, she clung to him with all her might, not even allowing him to come down to breakfast in the mornings alone. Yet Draco had no idea why he put up with her. Well, that was a lie. Pansy was a good lay.

"What?" Draco mumbled, turning his eyes quickly back to the much more appeasing sight across the room from him as Granger began to nibble softly on her bottom lip in the way he knew she only ever did when she was considering something. He couldn't care less about Pansy, couldn't care less what she had to say for herself. After all, she looked like a pug, why else would he only ever sleep with her in the dark?

But Granger, now, Granger he would shag wherever, whenever and in whatever lighting she chose. He pictured his hands in her hair, wrapping the curls around his fingers as he kissed her roughly and pressed her back against the wall of some deserted corridor, one hand slowly sliding up her smooth thighs...

"Why are you staring at _Granger?" _There she goes again, pulling him back from his fantasies that weren't doing much good for him in his tight trousers. Her voice was poisoned with an almost threatening spite at even muttering her name, the mudblood, the girl who didn't deserve the powers that she had. Born from Muggles, she was the kind of filth that any Slytherin would happily rid the school of. Especially Pansy. Especially a _jealous _Pansy.

Draco turned his head once more to glare at the puglike girl in front of him, her hand firmly clamped on his thigh as her sharp nails dug into his flesh, unaware due to the daggers she was shooting across the room at Hermione. His grey eyes narrowed, his light blonde eyelashes heavy over the cool depths of his soul, and he gritted his teeth almost audibly, refraining from throwing himself on on the annoying bitch that he called his girlfriend. His hands even twitched in anticipation of wrapping themselves around her slim neck and squeezing, squeezing until her face turned a bright blue and her eyes lolled backwards. Oh, how he would laugh.

"Granger?" Draco snorted, rolling his eyes at the sight of Pansy physically swooning as a strand of his pale blonde hair dropped over his forehead and into his eyes. Pushing the strand perfectly back, hating to have a single hair out of place, he noticed her eyes glaze over in fascination. God, some people made him want to puke. Or at least, they would, if he didn't love the fact that they were so darn attracted to him.

"Why would I be staring at that filthy mudblood?" Draco continued, sticking his chin high up in the air and looking down his nose at Pansy, a look of near confusion on his high cheek-boned face. Swirling around his brain was the mere thought of how anyone could be so painstakingly annoying every second of the day. Perhaps it was in the way she insisted on constantly touching some part or other of his body – preferably his rather large biceps – or perhaps it was simply because she was the most annoying person alive, with her thin lips that trembled whenever she wanted something from Draco that she wasn't going to get; and that happened _a lot._

Now, _Hermione's_ lips... they were so voluptuous and juicy and just begging to be kissed all day, kissed until the skin was raw and they puffed up to twice their size. The way she slicked a light coating of beeswax over them without realising the effect it had on their shine was enough to cause even the most evil of Slytherins to consider begging for more. And a Slytherin _never _begged, let alone a Malfoy.

Instead of continuing his pointlessly boring and completely pathetic conversation, his eyes turned once more towards the only thing filling his mind, her gorgeous body burning itself into his memory, turning his head away from Pansy in such a way that she knew she was not to question him further. He had much better things to be concentrating on, like the fact that Granger was currently licking her fingers innocently, clearing them of the sticky maple syrup dripping down them.

One finger after another, she licked painfully slowly up the sides of her finger, her chocolate eyes clamped shut from the sugary taste passing her lips. When she was done with that, she stuck the finger into her equally as sticky mouth, sucking it dry of any previous golden liquids, before removing it just as slowly. Watching this, Draco was certain of one thing; he had never been more aroused in his entire life.

He couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take the teasing that she was unknowingly setting upon him, setting upon more than a few of the boys in the Great Hall. He noticed the way Weasel was staring at her wide eyed, chewed up bites of toast very clear in his open mouth, noticed the way Longbottom's eyes looked as though they could pop out of their sockets at any second – now _that _was something he would like to see.

Standing up suddenly, forcing the bench backwards, Draco shoved past Pansy, temporarily forgetting his half eaten plate of pancakes and focusing on nothing more than how much time he would have alone in his dorm before his first lesson. With his present state, he knew it wouldn't take long. He had enough time, especially with the thought of Granger still firmly planted in his eye's mind. Storming out of the Great Hall at a speed Pansy had never seen him travel, her bottom lips began to tremble in the dreaded manner that it so very loved to, the realisation that Draco couldn't care less if she threw herself off the top of the Astronomy tower finally hitting her minute brain.

Thank god the boy in question hadn't seen it, or he may have just hexed her so that her lips could never move again, let alone tremble.

* * *

_Fin. _


End file.
